Blinded by the light.

“I knew I’d find you in here,” Pauline said, catching her husband in The Railway Tavern, when half an hour earlier he had insisted he was nowhere near the establishment.

“I’m only in to see a man about a job.” Joe lied, “Billy here, he was just telling me about the problem he’s having with his toilet.” Pauline turned to face an elderly gentleman, sitting at the bar with his guide dog curled up at his feet. Her face softened.

“Fine.” She said, “Just don’t be late home, you’ve got jobs to do for me too, you know.”

“As if I would,”

Joe smiled sweetly, kissing his wife on the cheek for good measure. All too aware of his sweeteners, Pauline fixed her man with a warning glare before turning on her heels and heading home. Joe exhaled.

“You just about got away with that one, son.” Billy chuckled, “Although, since you used me to cover your tracks, I might need to keep you to that job offer.”

During their earlier conversation, which Joe had cleverly used to pacify his wife, Billy had explained an issue he was having with the toilet flush in his bathroom. From the way he described it, the issue sounded like a simple enough fix. Billy, being blind, however, wasn’t capable of completing the work himself. It also wasn’t classed as an emergency, so the council had informed the elderly gentleman that, due to a backlog of work, it would take a while before a plumber could be expected to fix it. Joe could understand his friend’s frustration, and so, being a handyman, decided it wouldn’t take much to help Billy out. Besides, doing the job gave him an excuse to return to the pub later, which in turn meant he could avoid the chores his wife had planned for him, for a while.

“Give me your house keys,” Joe said, “I’ll sort that flush for you now, then it’ll be ready for you to go home to.” Billy smiled,

“Will it no’ take long?”

Joe shook his head, scraping the keys from the bar before heading to the door.

“I’ll be back before you finish that pint.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Joe yanked the string chain to illuminate Billy’s bathroom, and the extractor fan wheezed to life, spitting and chugging. Joe eyed it warily, concerned for his lungs were it to explode and spray dust everywhere. There was no time to worry about it now, not when he had a job to do.

Ten minutes later and the flush was fixed. Joe revelled in the feeling of a job well done, even if the clattering and clunking above his head had been an unpleasant distraction. He wondered how Billy managed to put up with that every time he used the bathroom. Then again, considering the effort it took to get the council to fix things, it made sense why Billy mightn’t have bothered to complain.

Examining the old-fashioned unit attached to the wall, an idea began to form in Joe’s head. It wouldn’t take long to solve this problem, too. Billy would surely be pleased, and when the regulars back at The Tav heard of his good deed, they would heap praise upon him. If he was lucky, he might even score a pint or two out of it.

Two hours later, Joe was starting to think he might have been best leaving the humanitarian efforts to the rock stars. The task he assumed wouldn’t take long, was a whole other level of difficult. No amount of fiddling around with the thing resulted in a satisfactory conclusion. Stripping it down, pulling it apart, cleaning it out – nothing worked. Mopping the sweat from his brow, Joe moaned in frustration.

“What am I going to do?” he wondered aloud, picturing the scene in the pub if he were to tell Billy his toilet was fine, but there was now a hole in the wall where an extractor fan used to be. He couldn’t throw in the towel yet, especially considering he had exacerbated the issue in the first place. No, he would figure this puzzle out even if it killed him.

It took an almighty effort, but half an hour later, the job was done. The fan was finally back in the wall and whirring gently. Exhausted, Joe gave himself a pat on the back, convinced Mount Everest would have been easier to conquer.

“What took you so long?” Billy asked as Joe shuffled into the Bar. “Your pints going flat here.” Joe pulled a stool beside his friend, taking a well-deserved sip of beer. Pausing for dramatic effect and to ensure he had a big enough audience of regulars, he recited his ordeal.

“The flush was nothing. I sorted that in minutes,” he explained, “but then I decided to fix that extractor fan of yours. I don’t know how you put up with that racket!”

“What do you mean?” Billy asked, a tone of confusion in his voice.

“Yer fan Billy!” he replied. “It was growling from the moment I turned the light on. I thought it was ready to explode. Some effort went into sorting that I’ll tell ye! You’ve nothing to worry about now, though. All sorted, pal!”

Joe smiled smugly, ready for the pints to come pouring in.

A moment of silence was broken as Billy began to laugh, softly at first, before bursting into an infectious cackle.

“You daft eejit!” Joe studied his friend. What had he said wrong? Surely he had done a good thing? Billy’s shoulders shook as he caught his breath.

“I’m visually impaired!”

“I know that, Billy,” Joe replied, attempting to get a grip on the situation, “the dog kind of gives it away, ken.”

“Well, if I’m blind,” Billy continued, “what on earth would I need to be switching the light on for?”